Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Goodbye March. I posted something on here my blog everyday this month after visiting this website, National Blog Posting Month. I thought that participating in NaBloPoMo would help get me out of my writer's funk. I came up with a few good posts. I reposted some favorites from my old myspace blog. And I resorted to using tags, memes and videos to fill up the other days. I am glad that I did it, it wasn't as stressful as I thought it would be.
I am not sure if I will be able to post every single day in April, since I am now back to work and I will dealing with the flood clean up in the house. But I think I will try. Each month NaBloPoMo has a theme. I didn't follow the theme for March. The theme for April is "Growing (up)". I might have a few stories in my brain that I can use that will fit in with that theme. I will see how the month goes.

For those of you who have been reading all month, thank you. For those of you who have just started, Welcome!

Monday, March 30, 2009

The following are a series of tweets sent out by me over the weekend, starting Friday morning when I woke up to Mr. Misha hollering, "Oh no! There is water every where!" He then comforted me by saying over and over again, "Don't worry baby, it's not potty water! It's not potty water!"

Woke up to major plumbing problem. 1" standing water in 2/3 of the house. Great.

Landlord is here sucking up all of the water.

Mr. Misha's bathroom is getting a brand new toilet.

This plumbing drama could not have come on a worse day. Tonight is my first night back working at the baby birthin' factory.

Shopvac-ing of the water is complete. Now for installation of new toilet. These are the most exciting tweets of the week for me. Sad.

Landlord Dave is going to go get industrial fans to dry out the house! Time to play "Supermodel Fashion Photoshoot" with the dogs!

Landlord Dave just announced he is here to blow me.

Today is my cocker spaniel's version of hell. Two things she hates most in the world: getting her feet wet and the vacuum cleaner.

Landlord and plumber have left. I think I will have to have the fans blowing all weekend to dry this place out. Glad it's warm out.

The Pug is petitioning Gov.Schwarzenegger & Prez Obama to declare Dogtown a disaster area. Thurs it was attacked by terrier, today flood.

I have the TV volume up full blast to hear over the fans. My neighbors are going to love me this weekend.

I am still splashing when I walk in some parts if the carpet. I am pretty sure industrial fans are a type if torture device.

I forgot about the linen closet and my bedroom closet yesterday when looking for wet floor. This is never going to end, is it?

Came home after working all night. Fans not really helping. House starting to smell weird. I think new carpet is inevitable. ARGH.

I will deal with the water logged house drama later. I am taking some pain meds and going to bed. Happy Sunday Tweeple!

Damp House Drama, Day 4- It's starting to smell. I hear the fans even if I turn them off. Will formulate plan after the sun comes up.

I am waiting for a more suitable hour to call my landlord. I am pretty sure we are going to have to move all of our stuff out of the house, replace the carpets and the baseboards, and quite possibly paint. I am going to try and take a positve attitude towards this. Use this as an opportunity to clean out some clutter, throw away some junk, super spring cleaning and maybe a furniture rearrangement. GAH!

Saturday, March 28, 2009

I have a Cocker Spaniel named Mimi. Mr. Misha and I do not keep her in the traditional cocker cut like you would see on the show dogs at Westminster. We let her body hair grow natural and keep it one length. We keep her ears long and we grow her top knot out so she has "rock and roll" bangs. Since money has been tight lately, I have been stretching the time between grooming appointments and Mimi was getting pretty bushy.

Her bangs were getting so long, the last few weeks she was having a hard time seeing because they were so long.

I ended up putting her top knot into a pony tail on top of her head, but I wasn't able to get a picture of it. DRAT!

Yesterday, I was finally got both of the dogs to the groomer. Harley, our Pug, is easy. She gets a bath, a nail trim, teeth brushed, her glands cleaned (gross) and then she is done. Mimi is a bit more labor intensive. Since it is spring and the weeds are out and it is getting warmer, I had the groomer give her a puppy cut. My only request was that she PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, do not cut her eyelashes. The result- a blonde lamb with 3 inch long eyelashes!

Thursday, March 26, 2009

I returned to physical therapy Wednesday. Last time I went it was not so pleasant. I would spend the first part trying to do exercises and stretches that my muscles just wouldn't let me do without protesting loudly. Then I would go back to the treatment room. My muscles would be stimulated with electrical pulses or soothed with ultrasonic waves. Then heat or ice would be applied. Then some massage. Most of the time, my physical therapist would try and break up the knots in my muscles only to irritate some nerve and send me into a 24 hour, light sensitive, brain-melting, puking migraine headache.

This time, it was different. My physical therapist's assessment showed that my range of motion has improved. I am having less headaches. We sat and formulated a plan. We are going to focus on increasing my strength and stamina. My left arm is quite week after 50 weeks of limited use. She gave me some simple exercises to try.

I went home sore, but a different kind of sore. A soreness that tells me I am getting stronger and better. I feel good.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

I hate spring. I hate the green grass, the blooming flowers, the breeze and the sun. I like the idea of spring. It's the reality of it that I hate.

I am a fair-skinned redhead, so the sun is not my friend. Add to that a strong family history of skin cancer and you have a girl who has no love for days that are brighter and longer.

I am also allergic to almost everything. Since spring is the time when almost everything is reproducing and floating around in the air, I spend spring red-nosed, sneezing and itchy. I have tried immunotherapy (allergy shots). I have tried pills. I have a neti pot. I have holistic tinctures. I have tried local honey. I have tried nose sprays. Not much works.

So, while all of you nature lovers are out there planting things, riding your bikes and participating in other pagan rituals of spring, I will be here, at my computer, sneezing and blowing my nose.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

I spent all day Monday with my mother. In a hospital. (Hospital, on my day off.) Around the sick and injured. (I don't do sick and injured.) All day. (I certainly don't do sick and injured and hospital IN THE DAY TIME.) Gah! With a crappy signal on my iPhone. (NO INTERWEB?) This was not looking good.

My mom is having spinal surgery next month. Today, we drove to Oakland Kaiser Hospital for her preoperative consultations. I seriously considered smothering myself with one of those plastic, patient belongings bags on several occasions during the day.

The first meeting was with her surgeon. He was, like most surgeons tend to be, an arrogant ass. When I discussed some concerns that had arisen during her previous surgery, he became a bit pissy. Rather than address our concerns, he blew us off. One thing he did do that I liked, he lowered my mother's expectations for the surgery. She had been thinking that this surgery would SOLVE ALL HER PROBLEMS. He made it clear that it might NOT solve ANY of her problems. I just want her to be prepared.

Then we met with anesthesia. The dude was nice. He seemed to understand my mom's long history and complex medical problems. Then we met the education nurse. Her accent was so thick, my mom could not understand her, and I had to translate. I could have done that meeting at home, in my pajamas, sans bra, all comfy like. One hour I will never get back. Then we went for lunch.

Since it took us 40 minutes to find a handicapped parking space that morning, there was no way we were going to forfeit it. I wanted to eat in the hospital cafeteria. My mom wanted to walk. This is the woman that falls down all of the time. She wanted to walk. She is having surgery primarily to improve her gate. She wanted to walk. JUST FUCKING KILL ME NOW. You know how parents walk with their hands encircling their just walking toddler as they stumble along like a drunk? I did that through the streets of Piedmont with my mother.

After lunch, back to the hospital. Met with the general medicine doctor. He had no grasp of my mom's cardiac history or bleeding disorder history. He freaked out about her low blood pressure, even though it has been that low for four decades. He also had an accent my mother could not understand and I had to translate for my mom. Great. Back to the waiting room.

The waiting room was so full that we had to go sit in the children's area. All I could think of while we were sitting there was that it was probably covered in snot, poo and puke cooties. Sitting in there was seriously creeping me out. All we were waiting for was labs and pre admissions. I offered to draw her labs myself if I could please get out of the germ-infested waiting room. They wouldn't let me.

Finally just as rush hour traffic was about to start, we finished. Then I got to spend an hour in bumper-to-bumper traffic with my neurotic mother. I just kept breathing deeply. I started to plan my evening: change into my jammies, pet the dogs, hug the spouse, watch RuPaul's Drag Race, then Dancing With The Stars, play on the internets, maybe have some dinner at some point, take some allergy medication and get into my comfy bed. It worked. I got home in one piece.

But after Drag Queens, Dancing Queens, etc. I am still wound up. I can feel the day sitting right where the shoulder and neck meet. And cooties. I still feel the cooties.

6. Do you have custom tones for your callers or are they all the same? Custom for my most frequent callers. That’s my early warning system – I know who is calling, even if I am not looking at the phone when it rings.

7. If you have custom tones, how do you choose them? Each song means something to me in reference to the person it’s assigned to. Either a memory or past experience.

8. Are you loyal to one genre or do you use a variety? A variety, but it seems to heavy with 80's songs.

9. Do you have a favorite ringtone? Tie between Jai Ho and RuPaul's Cover Girl

7. Who is the FIRST person you thought of this morning?
That stinky baby that was taking it's sweet time coming out.

8. Who was your FIRST grade teacher?
I don't remember, she got sick and we had a bunch of subs throughout the year.

9. Where did you go on your FIRST ride on an airplane?
Hawaii

10. Who was your FIRST best friend & do you still talk?
Jennifer Shatting, lost track of each other in our teens

11. Where was your FIRST sleepover?
Jennifer Shatting's house

12. Who was the FIRST person you talked to today?
My charge nurse

13. Whose wedding were you in the FIRST time?
My father's, when he married my step mother.

14. What was the FIRST thing you did this morning?
I was at work.

15. What was the FIRST concert you ever went to?
First one without a grown up- RICK SPRINGFIELD!

16. FIRST tattoo?
Fleur de lys

17. First piercing?
Ears

18. First foreign country you've been to?
Mexico

19. FIRST movie you remember seeing?
Sound of Music

20. When was your FIRST detention?
I don't remember, but I got kicked out of class in kindergarten for refusing to print my name. My Nana taught me how to write it in cursive and I liked the way that looked better than printing. The teacher called me insolent and kicked me out of class.

21. What was the first state you lived in?
California

22. Who was your FIRST roommate?
My mother's second husband, before they got married.

After my Mom and Step-dad divorced and our family home was sold, my Mom found a townhouse for us. We spent one hot, summer Saturday moving all of our belongings across town into our new place. It was a scary time, a new neighborhood and I was about to start middle school. But I was so exhausted that I fell into bed that night and I did not move once in my sleep.

At 8am on Sunday morning, I woke up to something I have never heard before. A woman screaming obscenities, with a thick Boston accent, at the top of her lungs at her entire family. "What the fuck do you think this is, a fucking hotel? Get your lazy asses out of bed and walk the fucking dogs! Then clean your God damned rooms." I looked out my bedroom window and I saw a platinum blond woman in rollers and a bright yellow housecoat yelling at two kids. The girl, who looked about my age, got both of the dogs and took them out for a walk. The boy who looked like he was in high school, just sat at the table and smirked while the woman yelled at him. Then a man came into their kitchen and said something to the woman. She didn't like what he said because she started whacking him on the head with her fists and yelling more foul language.

This family was making so much racket, that my mother woke up and came into my room. We both were stunned by the show going on across our driveway. We peered through my curtains, watching and listening as this woman screamed at her family. It was quite a show. I can honestly say that I learned how to properly use every single swear word (except the often maligned c-word) that morning. I owe my filthy vocabulary to that woman. Over the years, that woman who I lovingly called Mizz Betty became a second mother to me and her daughter became one of my best friends.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

From birth until age 10, I wasn't exposed to a lot of cursing in my home. My mom didn't curse, my stepfather didn't curse and aside from that one time at Christmas, I didn't curse. Then my parents split up. My mom had caught my stepfather cheating on her. Something in her changed from the mother I was familiar with, she became a disco dancing, smoking, wild woman.

One night, we came home to find that my stepfather had broken into the house and taken half of everything. Half of the food. Half of the linens. Half of the furniture. Half of the tools. Half of the Christmas decorations. If it could be divided into two, he took half of it, save for my belongings. My mom was livid. She got on the phone and started yelling at him. After about 10 minutes of screaming she yelled, "YOU PRICK!" and hung up.

I didn't think anything of it. So a few days later when some stinky boy stole our ball during a two-square game, I hollered, "You prick!" as I ran after him. My teacher was on yard duty that day and he called me over immediately.

Mr. K: "Michele, What did you call him?"

Me: "A prick?"

Mr. K: "Do you know what that means?"

Me: "It's like a poke with a needle and you can call someone that when they steal stuff."

Mr. K: "Where did you hear that?"

Me: "My mom called my Dad that the other night when he stole her bed."

Mr.K: "Well, that is a grown up word. I don't want you using that anymore, ok?. I am going to call your mom today."

Me: " Ok."

Six months later, my life changed dramatically. And so did my vocabulary.

Friday, March 20, 2009

When I was a teenager, I participated in Sea Scouts. It was a lot of fun and because of my involvement in it, I was able to do a lot of things that most kids my age didn't. In 1986, I sailed aboard the California Maritime Academy's Golden Bear to the World Expo in Vancouver, British Colombia. It was a lot of fun and I have many stories from that trip. I won't go into them now because I promised to tell you about how I got the nickname Misha, so here it is.

The Golden Bear at that time (the one I was on has been moth-balled and the school has a newer one now) was a 350ft steam powered ship. We when arrived in Canada, we docked in an industrial shipyard. We were the only ship on the dock for several days. When we didn't have duties on the ship, we would walk out of the shipyard and then find various modes of transit to the many points of interest in Vancouver. Many times, some of us would be hanging out on the dock waiting for our friends to finish up with their "watch" so we could all go out exploring.

One morning while I was on deck, a huge ship pulled up to our dock. The first things I noticed were the Cyrillic letters on the hull and the Soviet flag. THE RUSSIANS WERE COMING! THE RUSSIANS WERE COMING! Everyone went quiet on deck as we watch the crew tie their ship up to the dock. It was all the talk over breakfast. All of us wanted to know what they were doing there. The boys wanted nothing to do with "The Commies". The girls had a different idea. We decided that we would go over as goodwill ambassadors and introduce ourselves.

Of course, I was still on watch and no one wanted to wait for me. So I stayed on board with one other girl and the rest of the girls went over to introduce themselves. The girls went over and said it was kind of freaky. They said you could pick out who the KGB guys were right away because they all looked like Mr. Clean and they spoke English. They acted as the translators between the girls and the crew. It turned out that the ship was a fishing boat.

The guys were really excited to meet all of the girls and they all stood around learning each other’s names and exchanging gifts. The girls gave the fisherman California wine and cheese, commemorative wine glasses, little stuffed California bears and patches from our Sea Scout Ship, The Sea Otter. The Russians gave the girls bottles of Russian mineral mater, t-shirts with their ship logo on it, Russian cigarettes (gross) and pins. They tried to give them vodka, but the KGB guys knew they were too young.

After the names and the gift exchange, things got a little awkward. They all just stood around for a while staring at each other. I guess one of the fisherman dudes wanted to break the silence so he pointed over to the Golden Bear and said, "That boy over there he is moving very slow." The girls started to roar with laughter. You see, the "boy" he had pointed to was me. I was climbing up a ladder. I had really short hair at the time and he only saw the back of me. Before the girls could explain why they were laughing, I turned around and the fisherman saw my boobs, blushed and grinned.

Of course, the girls couldn't wait to tell me the story when they got back aboard the ship. I quickly showered and got ready and went over to meet the Russians too. As soon as we got aboard, my friend Liz said, "This is the guy that thought you were a boy!" I held out my hand and said, "Hi, my name is Michele." He said something in Russian and the KGB guy snickered and said, "He said we are going to call you Misha, it is like Mike, in Russian." Everyone laughed and that was my name for the rest of the trip.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

The boy's name Misha \m(i)-sha\, also used as girl's name Misha, is pronounced MEE-sha. It is of Russian origin. Nickname for Michael. See also Mike.

Misha has 1 variant form: Mischa.

Baby names that sound like Misha are Micha, Moshe and Mioshe.

Misha is a very rare male first name and a very rare surname (source: 1990 U.S. Census).

Misha is my nickname. It was given to me by a bunch of horny Soviet sailors in 1986. I used it sporadically until 2000, when I started working on a L&D unit that already had a Michelle (She uses two, mine is spelled with one) working the night shift. So I said, "Call me Misha" and it stuck.

Very few people call me Michele these days. When they do, it is usually because they are mad at me or are trying to annoy me. Except my mom. When she calls me Misha, it creeps me out. She says Misha like she has a turd in her mouth when she is saying it, so I prefer that she uses Michele.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

On April 21 2007, I had the pleasure of spending the evening with Iggy Pop on his 60th Birthday.

Mr. Misha and I, along with another couple, went to San Francisco to see Iggy and The Stooges in concert. We didn't know it was his birthday until we arrived. As we walked into the venue, the ticket takers handed out "Happy Birthday Iggy" buttons. We put our buttons on our lapels and waited for the show to start. I don't even remember if there was an opening band. All I remember was that all of a sudden-------THERE HE WAS.

All 5 foot 7 inches of him. Long, straight, light brown hair. Skin tight, low-rise jeans. Bare Chest. He ran, danced, sang, STAGE DIVED, jumped up and down; he did not stop moving for almost 2 hours. Even when the crowd sang Happy Birthday to him, he frolicked around the stage as black balloons emblazoned with his face fell from the ceiling.

Before we had gone to the show, I had been feeling a bit old. It was a few months before my 20th high school reunion. Seeing Iggy bound around the stage all night, full of energy and joy was like a tonic. I have been cruising along after that night in a bit of denial. I kept thinking to myself, "I'm not that old." Even when I had patients who were born the year I graduated from high school come in to deliver their babies, I still kept thinking, "I am still young."

Then I saw Belinda Carlisle on Dancing With The Stars. On August 17, 2008 she turned 50, a whole DOZEN YEARS younger than Iggy and a little more than a decade older than me. Don't get me wrong, she looked beautiful. But she MOVED old. She moved slower. She moved like she ached. She moved like I felt some mornings when I first get up or after a long shift of baby birthin'. It bugged me.

Look how cute she was dancing here:
The Go-Go's in 1984

Now look at her here:
Belinda Carlisle in 2009.I guess all the wild times of drugs and debauchery weighed more heavily on Belinda than they did on Iggy. Poor thing got booted off DWTS tonight. I am sad to see her go, but it serves her right for making me feel this way. I feel decrepit.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Mr. Misha and I went to see our tax lady last night. 2008 was a pretty shitty year for us financially. Since folks had very little disposable income, Mr.Misha's business was slow. Because of my work related injury last April, my income was really low. I didn't realize how little we were living on until it was all out there on her desk. It was a pretty sorry sight. For the first time since we have been married, Mr. Misha and I will be getting a refund. As we were signing our returns, Mr. Misha looked at me and said, "Who knew being poor would be so profitable for us?" I smiled until I realized we would see none of it. It will all go towards the taxes we still owe from previous years. That sucks.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Back in my 20's, before I went to nursing school, I would go out drinking quite often. I am happy drunk, a very LOUD, but happy drunk. I usually don't puke. I definitely am not a fighter or a crying chick when I drink. I just get a little mouthy.

Jimrie, Luke and I went out drinking. Luke was going to drive and take care of us; Jimrie and I were going to get smashed. That was the plan. So we went to a little dive bar out of town. We knew the bartender; the place had pool tables and great music on the jukebox.

We were playing pool and drinking, having a good time. I can't remember what pool game we were playing, but I was "out" and Jimrie and Luke were playing against each other. I put some money in the jukebox and picked some songs. I then went to the bar, sat down and started to talk with the bartender.

There was this creepy man that kept staring at me. I asked the bartender about him and she said he was always there and was always trying to pick up women. I was hoping this guy would stay away from me. I had a good buzz, there were good tunes playing, I didn't want to be bothered.

NO SUCH LUCK.

The creepy man picked up his drink and moved to my side of the bar and sat a few bar stools away from me. I tried to ignore him. Jimrie and Luke finished their game and came over to hang out. I felt like I had a reprieve. Just then about a dozen, leather clad bikers come in the door. Jimrie jumps up and yells "Uncle so and so, where have you been?" She runs off to see her Uncle. Next thing I know, some old man comes up to Luke and says "Marine, I want to shake your hand." Luke shakes the man's hand and they start to talk about the Marine Corps. Once again, I am alone.

The creepy man moves right next to me and says; "Do you work out?"

I tell him no.

He says, "You look like you work out."

I say, "I used to go to the gym, but I injured my shoulder."

He says, "Was is the weight of you breasts that injured your shoulder?"

I replied "What?"

He said; "Your breasts are so large, I would think that it would put a lot of strain on your shoulders".

What kind of pick up line is that? What the hell? I looked around and there was no one around to save me. I had to go it alone...

I climbed up the barstool and stood up on the bar. I yelled really loud "Excuse me, excuse me."

The bar got quiet. I had everyone's attention.

"This man has just informed me that my boobs are big. I had no idea. All these years of black eyes and fat lips after running, I had no idea. All these years of men looking down when they talked to me, I thought they were admiring my necklace. All these years of shoulder and back pain, I had no idea. I want to thank you, sir. Thank you for pointing this out to me. Everything makes sense now. I want to buy you a drink."

I stepped off the bar, got back on my bar stool and took a swig of my beer. The guy got up and walked out of the bar. I received a round of applause. No one talked about my boobs the rest of the night.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Here's what you're supposed to do - create a new blog/note, copy and paste this message into the new blog/note, type your answers, then tag a few friends and family INCLUDING the person who tagged you - But I am tagging NO ONE. Because that is how I roll.

THREE NAMES I GO BY
1. Michele
2. Misha
3. Meesh

THREE JOBS I HAVE HAD IN MY LIFE
1. Cocktail Waitress
2. Make up Artist
3. Registered Nurse

THREE PETS THAT YOU HAVE OWNED
I am not going to answer this just because I object to the phrasing of the question. I have never really owned a pet. I have adopted a pet. I have been a guardian, a care giver, a sibling or a parent to a pet. But I have never felt like an owner of a pet.

THREE FAVORITE TEAMS TO WATCH
1. I liked the LA Dodgers when Tommy Lasorda was their coach.
2. I liked the 49ers when they were more competitive.
3. I had fun watching the Patriots when Brady was playing.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

I have compiled the clips that lead up the Jon Stewart vs. Jim Cramer extravaganza this past week. I used the unedited version for the final interview, so there is foul language and segments that were not aired on TV.

Friday, March 13, 2009

For some reason, my Mom liked to marry US Marines. My Father (biological), her first husband, was an USMC helicopter pilot. There was never a woman who was less appropriate for the role as an USMC Officer's Wife. My mom was constantly getting my Father in trouble when they were married. She didn't like to follow the rules and he paid the price. If you met my father, you would wonder how the two of them ever thought it was a good idea to get married.

My Dad (Step-father), her second husband, was...you guessed it, an USMC helicopter pilot! Luckily, when they married, he went from active duty to the USMC reserves. There was no more living on base, no more day to day duties of the Marine Corps wife, all my mom had to do was behave herself once a year at the Marine Corps ball. Every year, around the "Birthday" of the USMC (November 10th), US Marines around the world hold a formal "Birthday Ball". If you have never heard of the Marine Corps Ball, think of it as the Senior Prom for Marines, except you have to behave like an adult. The behaving part was never my mother's strong suit.

When I was a kid, every year the Jaycee's in town would have a big fundraiser. One year, they chose to hold their event in October and have an Oktoberfest theme. My mom, being the good German girl that she was, looked forward to going. She got her two German immigrant friends, Ingrid and Trixie, to buy tickets as well. The night of the party came and I remember my mom getting ready. She was very excited, especially since she just got new shoes and planned to wear them that evening. It was the 70's, so of course the shoes were platforms. I remember waving good-bye as my mom and dad, along with their friends, drove off that night. The next morning, I went into my mom's bedroom to see how the night went. She didn't look good. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin had a greenish pallor and she had a bunch of scratches on her arms. I asked her what happened.

My mom and her German friends got really drunk. They had a great time. The whole place was decorated like a German beer garden during the fall. The centerpieces for the tables were pumpkins and other gourds. My mom and her friends decided to take the pumpkins home with them when they left. As they were walking down the hill to their car, someone dropped a pumpkin. My mom saw the pumpkin roll by and yelled; "It's the Great Pumpkin, we have to save the Great Pumpkin!' She then started to run down the hill after said pumpkin. On her way, one of her platform shoes landed in a pothole, she fell off her shoes and BROKE BOTH HER FEET. She had a plaster cast up to the knee on one leg and a removable brace on the other foot. This would suck under any circumstances, but it was especially bad because the Marine Corps Ball was in 3 weeks.

My mom had a long steel blue dress especially made for the ball. It had shiny gold buttons on the bodice. To match the buttons, she bought a gold purse and gold sandals. There was no way she was going to be able to wear the sandals. So what did my mom do? She spray-painted the "shoe" that went over the plaster cast and the brace that went on the other foot, Gold. If her feet poked out from under the dress, she would still match.

The night of ball came and off they went; my dad in his dress blues and my mom, in her steel blue gown, gold purse and gold "shoes". Once again, my mom imbibed a little too much. My dad found her; drunk, with a bunch of wives in the corner of the ballroom, dress up around her waist showing off her gold "shoes". The Colonel's wife, who was from Alabama, was hollering; " Does anybody here have a writin' stick?" Another drunken southern belle hollered back; " I don't have a writin' stick, but I gots me a lipstick!" The Colonel's wife decided that was good enough and the whole group proceeded to sign my mom's plaster cast with hot pink lipstick. After they were done signing her cast, my dad poured my mom into the car and took her home. Despite being drunk off her ass, my mom was cognizant enough to know that lipstick smears. So, she wrapped her cast in saran wrap before she went to bed.

The next morning, my mom's cast was a hot pink soggy mess. After a Bloody Mary and a few aspirin, off we went to Kaiser to get my mom a new cast. Since my mom was really good at drinking, but not so well at walking, this was not our first trip to the cast room. The cast tech, named Thermador, was very familiar with my mom. The look on his face when he saw my mom's soggy lipstick covered cast and her gold spray-painted shoes, was priceless. Thermador still works at Kaiser. Every time he sees my mom in the halls, his eyes light up, a big smile stretches across his face, he winks at her and says; "Now you be careful, Miz Joanie", I hear him chuckle as he walks away.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

I am going to the doctor later today to get "Trigger Point" injections of corticosteroids into my left upper trapezius muscle. I think it's gonna hurt. I am a big baby.

Plus, I am not even convinced it is going to work. My neck still hurts and both of my hands keep going numb. I am not sure how a shot in my muscle will help alleviate these symptoms. Maybe I will have a better attitude after I get some sleep.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

My mom read to me EVERY day for the first 3 years of my life. After that, I had memorized most of the words and would "read" to her for the next two years. By the time I started elementary school, I was a pretty advanced reader and I loved doing it. I would bankrupt my mother with the monthly Scholastic Book orders. She eventually restricted my book orders at school, but would take me to yard sales and book sales once a month and let me pick out as many books as I wanted for $15.00. She never monitored what I was reading, she was just glad that I enjoyed it.

In 5th grade, we had a special time in class called SSR (sustained silent reading). We could read anything we wanted. I brought my books from home. I was reading my latest garage sale book and came upon a word I did not know. I went up to my teacher and asked to use the dictionary. He asked why and I said I didn't know what a word meant in my book and I wanted to look it up. He asked my what the word was.

I replied "Phallus".

All the color drained from his face and he calmly asked, "What are you reading?"

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

I can't help it. I love Dancing With The Stars. I waited patiently all these months for Season 8 to start and last night did not disappoint. Each season, I have two groups of favorites; stars I want to win because I like who they are and stars I want to win because of how they dance.

Steve Wozniak, or The Woz as he is known to all of us Mac lovin' nerds, has a big following in Nerdland. I imagine that they are all working up hacks to dial, text and hack The Woz all the way to the finals. I hope all of the other stars can rally up enough support to make it a close contest. While Woz did dance much better than I expected and I do want him to stay around for a while, I can't imagine him going home with the much coveted glitter ball trophy for his dancing skills.

Monday, March 09, 2009

It was Christmas Eve, 1974 and I was one month away from my 6th birthday. My Mom, Step-Dad and I were making sugar cookies to leave out for Santa. We were getting near the end of the batch and the dough was starting to stick to the cookie cutters. I was getting very annoyed. I was shaking and shaking the cookie cutter, but the cookie wouldn't fall out. That is when I said "Fucking cookie!" My dad said "What?"I said, "Fucking cookie won't come out of the cookie cutter"My mom said "WHAT DID YOU SAY?"At this point, my dad is turning bright red; shaking and starting to sweat, he was doing everything in his power not to laugh.I said "Fucking cookie."She interrupted me and said "Michele Marie! Where did you hear that?"I replied "Anatoly."She mutters "Oh that little commie bastard!"Now, here is the back-story:I was going to Kindergarten at a very "hoity toity" private school. My mom and Step Dad were paying big bucks for me to get my basic kindergarten education along with the "hoity toity" additions of:Art class,Ballet class,Swimming class,Acting class,Foreign Languages,Etiquette classes,Cooking classes...the whole "hoity toity" package. I wore a plaid skirt, blue blazer and saddle shoes to class every day. My family wasn't rich, my mom worked extra to pay for my tuition. But the children I went to school with...Well, their folks were rolling in the bucks. Anatoly, the aforementioned "little commie bastard", was the son of the Soviet Consulate General, or something important like that. My mom and Step Dad, being ULTRA conservative, were not pleased that he was my classmate. This was just the ammunition my mom needed to try and get this kid out of the school. She stewed all Christmas, she started to boil around New Year's, by the time school started again...She was white hot. We arrived at school early; my mom met the Headmaster at the door. She started off well, talking calmly, telling him how our Christmas was scarred by the education I received by Anatoly. Apparently, she did not get the response she liked from the Headmaster. Because what I heard from behind that closed door was my mom, screaming;
"I BUST MY ASS TO PAY FOR THIS PRESTIGIOUS SCHOOL. I WANT MY DAUGHTER TO COME OUT OF THIS PLACE EDUCATED. I DIDN'T SEND HER HERE TO LEARN GUTTER LANGUAGE FROM SOME LITTLE COMMIE BASTARD. YOU BETTER FIND A WAY TO FIX THIS. I WANT THAT LITTLE COMMIE BASTARD...GONE!"The meeting didn't go the way my mom planned. I finished the year at the school and the next year I was put in Parochial School. It was there, in first grade, where I learned what a "BONER" was.My mom just couldn't win.

Sunday, March 08, 2009

I was tagged by several people, using several different versions. So here is my version of "Favorite Artist Decides My Life". Rules of the game:
- Choose a singer/band/group
- Answer using ONLY titles of songs by that singer/band/group
- Tag 10 more people (let them know they've been tagged) or don't.

I chose The Presidents of the United States of America. They are not necessarily my all-time favorite, but they have fun song titles for this meme.

1. Are you male or female?Last Girl on Earth

2. Describe yourself.Lump

3. What do people feel when they're around you?Naked and Famous

4. How would you describe your previous relationship?We Are Not Going to Make It

LASTS:
029. Last person you talked to → Isabella the Ho
030. Last person you texted → Liquid Amy
031. Last person you watched a movie with → Mimi and Harley
032. Last food you ate→ Hostess Cupcake
033. Last movie you watched → Love In The Time Of Cholera
034. Last song you listened to → Signed, Sealed, Delivered
035. Last thing you bought → Smokes
036. Last person you hugged → Isabella the Ho

ANSWER TRUTHFULLY:
097. Is there one person you want to be with right now? Yes.
098. Are you seriously happy with where you are in life? In some ways.
099. Do you believe in God → Not in the traditional sense. 100. Post as 100 truths and tag 10 people→ That's not a question...

I choose to tag no one. Unless of course, you would like to participate in this time waster. Then by all means, proceed.

I was thinking if I started drinking more I would have some good boozed-fueled stories I could write about. Maybe some bar brawls, lame pick-up stories or drunken people tricks. I don't have to work next weekend. Maybe I will try out my theory then.

Thursday, March 05, 2009

A few years back, Mr. Misha and I were invited to a "Dick Van Dyke" themed birthday party. I spent about 3 hours in my hair stylist's chair trying to get my very thick hair into a bouffant hairdo. In order to get that little pouf in the back, she took a big hunk of my hair, ratted it up, shellacked it with hair spray, rolled it into a ball and then flopped the rest of my hair over the top of it. The final result was this:

Not bad, but not as high as I had hoped. My hair is just so heavy and there is just so much of it, I thought I would never be able to get that bump in the back! But the other night I saw this advertisement:

What a great idea! Instead of ratting up, one third of my hair and pasting to my skull, I can buy this doohickey! Now I just need to be invited to another theme party and I will be good to go.